


Knit One, Purl Two

by Lenore



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Community: picfor1000, Fluff, Forgery, Kissing, Knitting, M/M, Romance, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-18
Updated: 2011-06-18
Packaged: 2017-10-20 12:51:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/212961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenore/pseuds/Lenore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames offends Arthur's fashion sense yet again. This time it's personal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Knit One, Purl Two

**Author's Note:**

> This is my story for the challenge. [Here's](http://bighugelabs.com/onblack.php?id=342457031) my picture. The lovely [](http://no_detective.livejournal.com/profile)[**no_detective**](http://no_detective.livejournal.com/) came up with this idea and pretty much everything that happens in this story.

Naturally it took Eames's twisted logic to conclude that the quickest way to wheedle information out of their mark was a tag-team seduction by Arthur and Eames-forging-Arthur.

"You're just his type, and no man can resist twins. It will be fun!" Eames grinned delightedly.

For the life of him, Arthur would never understand why he agreed to it.

At least getting their mark alone was simple enough. The man had an impacted wisdom tooth, and the oral surgeon had hopeless gambling debts. Once under, the plan was straightforward: a chance meeting on the street, some flirtation, a drink at an intimate, candlelit lounge, the perfect place for divulging secrets.

Entering the dream went smoothly. At least, until Arthur got a good look at Eames.

The forgery was impeccable, as always, and if seeing Eames wearing Arthur's own serious, focused expression gave him an excited, narcissistic little thrill, Arthur was certainly professional enough to ignore it. Eames had copied Arthur's taste in winter attire with an artist's eye for detail: the rich shine of the leather dress shoes, knife-sharp creases in the wool bespoke trousers, the clean lines of the Dior Homme cashmere coat. It was all perfect except for—

The words "mittens" and "toboggan" shuddered through Arthur's brain, painfully.

"No. Absolutely not," he said adamantly, once he'd recovered from the shock to his aesthetic sensibilities.

"Darling, look at us!" Eames enthused, draping an arm across Arthur's shoulders. "We're adorable. And besides, it's important to seem trustworthy. What inspires confidence more than a man in handmade woolen accessories?"

"If by confidence, you mean mockery," Arthur said dryly, "then yes, by all means. Otherwise, _take them off_."

"Too late," Eames said cheerfully.

Their mark had rounded the corner and was headed their way. Arthur directed one last disapproving glare at Eames, and then they set to work.

Maybe men really couldn't resist twins—or at least their mark couldn't—because it was stupidly simple to whisk him away for the planned drink. Once at the bar, he began to sling back vodkas and babble away. All it took for the secrets to come slurring out of him was Eames leaning in and fluttering his eyelashes, which just looked _wrong_ on Arthur's face.

"That's so interesting," Eames told the mark breathlessly. "Do tell us more."

Something cold and unhappy clenched in Arthur's stomach. Not because he was jealous that Eames was shamelessly flirting with another man _right in front of him_. Not at all. He just didn't appreciate Eames acting like an empty-headed bimbo while wearing Arthur's skin.

The toboggan and mittens sat on an empty chair, taunting Arthur with their aggressive homeliness. He consoled himself that at least the dream would end soon, and he'd be spared the indignity of seeing himself once again dressed in the world's most atrocious knitted goods.

* * *

Eames had a terrible habit of not returning calls. Everybody in the business knew that. If you wanted him for a job, your best bet was simply to go and fetch him. Arthur made it a habit to keep tabs on Eames's whereabouts for this reason…and this reason alone.

February in London was not Arthur's idea of a good time, but Eames was spending the winter at home, so here Arthur had come. He walked along, following the familiar route to Eames's flat, going over the upcoming job in his head for the countless time, searching for potential flaws in his strategy.

Abruptly he stopped in his tracks.

Across the street Eames came striding out of a shop, newspaper tucked beneath his arm. He looked the usual mismatched mess, mustard colored corduroy trousers, and a puffy jacket that gave him an unfortunate resemblance to the Michelin man, and— Arthur blinked three times rapidly in succession just to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. But no. Eames really was wearing the same misbegotten hat and mittens from the dream.

"Darling," Eames said when he saw Arthur, smiling happily. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Arthur skipped the niceties, pointing a finger at the offending knitted items. "Do you do that just to piss me off?"

Of course, once he'd said it, he realized that Eames hadn't known he was coming. Which left only one possibility. Eames actually owned that hat and those mittens. He made it a habit of wearing them out into the world where people could see him. _Good God_.

Eames grinned. "I'm regret my winter wear offends your fashion sense, Arthur, truly, but it has its practical value."

Arthur fully intended to snap back that hideousness didn't have insulating properties as far as he knew, but then Eames was tugging off one of the mittens using his teeth. Arthur could only stare. That should not have been nearly as hot as it was.

"Here," Eames said, still grinning. Before Arthur could offer up a protest, Eames had grabbed his hand and pulled the mitten onto it. "Warm and comfy, yeah?"

Eames stood close, rubbing Arthur's hand between his own, and, okay, maybe there was something to these butt-ugly mittens after all, because suddenly Arthur was feeling really quite…

"Warm. Yes."

Eames slipped his thumb beneath the cuff of the mitten and stroked Arthur's bare wrist. "There's more where this came from. We could pop round my flat. I could show you my twisted braid cables."

"You knit." Of course, he did. "And did you just proposition me with yarn?"

"Yes, on both accounts, and since you have yet to punch me in the face, may I assume the propositioning went successfully?"

Arthur considered it a moment. "Just don't ever knit me anything."

"Of course, darling," Eames promised solemnly, wholly unbelievably.

"I'm serious," Arthur started to insist, but then Eames was kissing him, fondly, thoroughly, as if he'd been waiting a long, long time to do it.

Arthur kissed back, his be-mittened hand clutching at Eames's shoulder. Visions of a future filled with shockingly hideous knitwear flashed before his eyes. Strangely, he found he didn't mind so much.


End file.
